Breakfast under the Apple Tree
by Shiro Ryuu
Summary: Rosiel and Katan eat breakfast in a garden, not far from a grave. Tensions are aired, and Katan wonders which of them is the true parent figure these days. No slash this time, sadly.


**AN:** Just another one of my random Rosiel-and-Katan pieces, because I missed them (heart). Jotted down in about two hours, chock full of foreshadowing and symbolism... though, other than that, possibly not very much, heh. I can't help it; these scenes appear in my head fully-formed and demand that I write them, whether they have any particularly deep messages in them or not... (sweats) I should make them part of a longer story, I guess—but wasn't that already what I was supposed to be doing with Imperfect Sky...? Eh, whatever :D Thought I should mention that while some of the foreshadowing will make more sense if you're read book 20, I doubt it will spoil anything for you if you haven't. Also, if you think you see some faint similarities to Megalomania, you're probably right; I've been thinking about some of the same topics (mainly eating disorders) again lately. But anyway, hope you enjoy :)

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**Breakfast under the Apple Tree**

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Katan cooked for the Inorganic Angel Rosiel. It had been one of the first duties given to him upon the recovery of his body because, Rosiel explained, the political situation was rapidly becoming so tense that he could not even trust servants. No servants but him. It was an enjoyable task, for the most part—his muscles responded as well as they ever had and his skin felt just the same, after all, so he was allowed to bury himself in mindless activity for a time.

His lord took breakfast in his private garden. Somewhere out here, Katan thought, there was a fresh grave, with the turf carefully replaced over it... He kept his eyes lowered as he set the table, and waited for a dismissal.

"You _can_ sit, you know. You haven't eaten yet, right?"

Now he did glance at his lord, as he slowly took a seat. Spun-glass hair, blurry in the sunlight; a white poet's shirt (apparently he hadn't bothered to dress yet); skin the color of milk, or corpses—his unusual yellow eyes and a gold chain around his neck to match made a striking contrast... "I only made enough for one," was all he said aloud.

"Nonsense." Rosiel waved the remark off flippantly, inch-long nails glinting in the rising sun. "There's enough food here for three people-" an unsettling smirk, "-so if you eat enough for two, I'll be fine."

Katan flushed, and used a helping of scrambled eggs as an excuse to keep his eyes down for a while. Eventually, though, as the silence stretched on, he grew bold enough to sneak another glance. There was hardly any reason to be furtive, he discovered; Rosiel was not looking at him, or at his food, but off to the side, at some distant object or event that Katan's eyes could not discern.

_Just who are you remembering? And if I could show you what your expression looks like right now, would you perhaps refrain from torturing yourself so...?_

As if he finally sensed eyes on him, Rosiel looked over; Katan was too slow in looking away, and the pale man grinned. "Well," he said, standing, "it will be another busy day today; I'd better get started. Thanks for the food."

To Katan's ears it seemed as if there was the slightest hiss in that last 's', like a snake—subtle mockery. "Aren't-" he started, too loud, and looked down in embarrassment. "...Aren't you going to have any more?" His concern seemed well-placed; the great angel had only eaten a few bites.

"Aw," said Rosiel, just faintly condescendingly, "I hope you don't take it as an insult to your cooking. I'm just not hungry."

_You're never hungry!_ "I was just thinking of later," he murmured. "If you're going to be working hard, you should be sure to eat..."

"I know how much food I need!" Katan looked up in time to see a ghastly sneer, full of teeth. "Say—just who do you think is the parent here, anyway?"

"I was out of line," he intoned in the general direction of the ground. "Forgive me."

"Of course. Clean up here, would you...?"

He ruffled Katan's hair in passing, just like he had when the cherub had been a young boy, and Katan couldn't tell if it was supposed to be some kind of horrible parody—or an abrupt and awkward apology.

* * *

Katan snacked as he cleaned because he knew it was prudent, but really he didn't have much of an appetite left either. _I **know** that I can't handle eating as little as he does,_ he thought wryly. _That man will be the death of me._

But it was just so _wrong_. All that anger, just waiting to spill out in words or gestures—never eating, until he ought to have faded away long ago—and most of all, just what he meant when he said he was going to be 'busy'—this was not the Lord Rosiel he knew, and it pained him beyond expression to see these changes. _That_ was why he remained by his side, not because he approved of this behavior, but because-...

Because, well, what else was he supposed to do? And what would Rosiel become without him here, the one person who would endure all his venting and still remain loyal? Would he eat _anything_? Just who... took care of whom these days, _really_...?

Katan absentmindedly discarded an apple, half-eaten, and stared into his own private distance for a while.

**Owari**


End file.
